Always Until Never
by Orion Hunts
Summary: Bickering and anger is almost always prevalent in the Wayne household, and Dick is always caught in the middle. One day his peacemaking goes wrong, and his family has to pick up the pieces. The question is: Can they manage to save Nightwing from the 'dark side' before it's too late? With the dissapearence of Blüdhaven's hero, a new threat arises and no one is there to help.
1. Always On Edge

Always the dumb brother. The one who gave in to favors too easily. The one who was air headed. Empty minded. _Dense._

Because after all, he was the circus freak, born and raised. Which other bat boy grew up surrounded by clowns and outcasts? One died at the hand a of clown, sure, but none of them were taught by clowns. Traveled with clowns. Lived with clowns.

That must make Dick a clown.

Of course it did. Because where else do the outcasts run away to? To the circus, of course!

Their quips and laughs about his upbringing only ever added fuel to the fire. Because what else makes a smile so bright?

"Dick, _come one_! We're gonna be late!" Tim yelled, his voice echoing off of the marble hallway. Quiet shuffling could be heard from a far, left room. His younger brothers were timing Dicks hurried actions- always impatient, always ready to lay the blame on him.

Not even a few seconds had passed before Jason rolled his eyes and stomped towards Dick's room, slamming open the door to reveal a half dressed man. One who slept through the alarm that failed to ring.

"Wow, what a surprise," he dryly muttered. "Goldie here just woke up." Shaking his head, Jason grabbed a random hoodie and threw it at the older boy.

"Sorry, I just-"

"It doesn't matter how you look. Just be ready faster," Jason cut him off, icy venom dripping into his statement. Frantic, Dick pulled on a random pair of pants and a too-small shirt. Afraid of being dismissed- yet again- he chased after his little brother as he stormed out of the room. Just making it in time, the boys loaded up the car, and somehow- for whatever reason- they let their overly excited brother come along on their 'family outing' too.

One small example of their impatience for their clown-of-a brother.

It wasn't that they disliked Dick.

No.

They loved him; after all, he was the glue that held the family together. It was just that their affection died before it surfaced. Because the boy who could hold a one-sided conversation for hours on end was the one who never asked for approval.

Without him, the only talk that would surface would be complaints. More than likely, constant arguing. _Hatred._

Jason had the patience of a child waiting for recess- he wasn't one to sit there quietly as Dick nattered on about nonsense.

Tim, as sweet as can be, was riled up within second of Damian uttering a single word, and often times spit malice into Dick's face out of pure reflex.

And Damian, for what it's worth, loved Dick to the ends of Earth; he was the Robin to Dick's Batman, quite literally. But that didn't matter when all that came across was 'ungrateful' or 'frosty'.

All of the boys loved him.

Except it was just difficult to even try to decipher their subtle message.

Arguing, that's all that ever happens around here. The constant bickering, their yelling voices never ceasing to shut up. Dick should be use to this, he shouldn't even be fazed by their constant squabbling.

And maybe that's why he snapped, why he drifted away from saving the innocent and stopping the guilty. Really, they should've expected him to snap at one point; for his bright, smiling eyes to turn dark and cold. For his laughing chatter to one day cease forever more.

Because when it happened, they all were there- the results shockingly surprised all of them, but still, they were ever-so unresponsive to the odd change of events. All of his little brothers, screaming and cursing as usual, ignored his presence as if he were just another stain on the wall. Their 'father' had been there too- just sitting there, watching them tear each other apart, limb from limb, never bothering to involve himself and help the tiring boy. (And that's all Dick was. A boy in a world of men, a novice when it came to normal life issues.)

Maybe he should've been use to it. Maybe he should've been use to the constant name-calling, the ever-so-present demeaning comments. But he wasn't- _and as always_ \- he tried to soothe the tensions. He tried to end the heated arguments. Constantly, he was the peacemaker to their nonstop war, however unsuccessful he would end up being.

So it was no unusual occurrence when he was promptly dismissed, yet again.

"Just shut up for once, Grayson!"

 _And he says it as if Dick's constant chatter was the worst thing on Earth, as if his constantly friendly talk was like fire to their ears._

"Maybe stop thinking so much about yourself and help others for a change!"

 _But it wasn't as if he hadn't dedicated his life to helping others- to putting his life on the line to save their own…_

"You don't get it, you're nothing but a circus freak!"

 _Maybe that's all he'll ever be, an ignorant freak because after all, he's forever the mud on society's shoes. (But while he may be a freak, at least he's proud of his roots.)_

"How can you even _try_ to help? You can't possibly understand!"

 _He may not be the smartest, but at least he can_ try _and help_ _them. It wasn't as if he's never felt pain, their struggles were never that different from one another after all..._

Their words always hit him, and emptiness was all that ever resulted from it. Because how can a manwhore help? How can an uneducated circus freak soothe things over? He always took their comments and ignored the pain, _always_ trying to help. And it _always_ resulted in nothing but hurt.

At that moment, his insides burned like fire. His hands were shaking and his vision turning black at the edges. But _as always_ , he shut it all out and calmed down. He never sunk to their level of pettiness and instead, he tried to fix the problem, to distinguish the fiery arguments. Except that day he couldn't. The shaking wouldn't stop and instead all he saw was black, angry, unforgiving darkness.

Rage shook his insides, raw hatred bled through his voice. And instead of smiling, instead of hugging it out and most importantly, instead of talking it through, he laughed. His voice shook, and his empty giggling shook through the manor.

What gave them the right to judge him? What made him less than them? Was it his ethnicity- background- demeanor?

They all looked down upon him for his friendliness, they never took him seriously. But what honestly gave them that right? He was the original Robin, the one and only Nightwing, and he sure as Hell had been through the same fucked up mess the rest of them had been through- if not more so! Those good-for-nothing replacements always walked all over him like he was nothing because while he may have been a 'circus freak', he still wasn't worth any less than the rest of Bruce's side show.

For once in his pitiful life, he walked out on them. But before that, he couldn't help but look them all in the eyes, his face splitting into two. His laughter rattling their heads, and five sets of shocked eyes watched his uncharacteristic actions unfold.

"What a worthless bunch you all are, nothing but a collection of replacements."

His voice came out emotionless, his face vacant of expression- albeit it was painted over with a cruel smile, false hope to be drizzled in his final testimony. Jason couldn't blink as 'Goldie' started acting completely dark, and in that moment Damian and Tim finally realized how much they took Dick for granted. That one painfully simple statement pushed them all in despair because the one person in the world to constantly have their backs had turned on them. That one short sentence- barely whispered, nonetheless- had hurt them all so much. Because while the boys could curse all day at one another, their oldest brother could wound them so much simply by not smiling along.

Ignoring them though and skipping away, his heart left his chest. Instead of pain, depression or any other fucked up emotion, all Dick felt was emptiness. Maybe it was their constant arguing, maybe it was the never-ending villains or maybe his cheerfulness wound too tight in his chest, but nonetheless, an honest-to-God smile never graced his lips again.

His brothers watched as Dick skipped away, even their father and the butler were worried at the sudden change of events. The happiest, most benevolent person to ever grace their presence just took a complete 180° flip and seemingly changed before their eyes. And for the first time in awhile, the three boys were quiet. Their screeching had come to a halt as soon as Dick's chortling begun, because after all, what had been so funny to the oldest boy?

They watched as he left, and they didn't bother approaching him, didn't bother to make sure he were alright.

Because after all, Bruce's golden child would come to his senses and apologize.

Right?

Because surely it wasn't their fault for his sudden anger.

Right?

Time stood still as they waited.

They waited for him to come back. To apologize. To make amends. But it was too late when they realized he wasn't coming back. That Nightwing was the next villain. That their brother was no more.

So then they searched. And searched. And searched.

So that they could apologize, make amends, and indemnify for their lost brother.

But while they were too late, they never stopped looking for him again.


	2. Always A Trap

Blüdhaven had never been a pristine city. It was never hopeful. Or opportunistic. Or even remotely habitable. But never before had there been so many unforeseen deaths in less than a month.

-

The nighttime buzz was particularly silent; there was barely anything to be heard- aside from the honking of cars- but one lone man, panting and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. His sapphire eyes were fluttering open and closed, light fading in and out of darkness. Life often times lacked that finesse that the man so dearly loved, and now was no exception. Wanting to case a famous serial killer, the rookie police officer so desperately walked into a trap.

Fools wandered into bad situations, and he had been no different. It all began rather suddenly, much to his distaste; it had been erry throughout his entire trip down to the slums, it was as if everyone were holding their breaths. Waiting for him to slip. Waiting for the trap to snatch up its next victim

Given the situation, he supposed, it _was_ foolish to skip off without supervision from his commanding officers or without even a search warrant, but here he was, waltzing into the heart of a crime area- _alone_. Talk on the street lead him to their serial killer, and he greedily jumped the gun and ran into the trap. To the city's newest and most famous criminal. And if he were to successfully book him, then he'd make a name for himself. _And finally be worth something in the eyes of his superiors…_

But his trip down to the drugged-up side of town took for an unsurprising turn of the worst when a brick met with the back of his head. As if he were in a movie, his life flashed before his eyes. Everything was happening so fast, and damn, he was not ready to go. Die. Succumb to death's door.

Crimson, thick, seeping blood dripped down his neck as he waited and waited for answers- for _help_. But there was no one to come. So as he crumpled to the ground and started feeling around the rough pavement, looking frantically for his dropped weapon, thoughts flew through his head, but sadly, all to be said was already done.

But oh, of course this had to happen! Who in their right minds would even go into the 'dark side' of Blüdhaven without backup, anyway? Especially when there was some crazed, bloodthirsty lunatic on the loose?

There was no excuse to explain why he wandered into this obvious trap, the only thing that could explain why he was such a fool was because he was only a rookie. A _novice_ in a field of professionals. A _fool_ playing a chess-masters game. And he sure as Hell had not thought past catching the murderer. He'd thought about the result, but he had never thought of the how. So here he was concussed and laying helplessly, but the silence carried on patiently. Not a creature in sight to hear him scream. No one to come to his rescue as the brick was replaced with a lead pipe. No one to hear him cry out when his head received a fresh smack from his unseen attacker.

His soon-to-be killer finally flipped over his shoulders and displayed himself for the panicking police officer, and he smiled. He actually _smiled_. The poor boy's heart quickened as he looked into the face that split into two, like the Goddamn Cheshire Cat.

 _But wait- wasn't Nightwing a good guy? What was he doing here?  
_  
The bloody weapon didn't make any sense in the hands of the hero, and his concussed head was quickly fogging up with terrible thoughts, but his attacker especially confused him. The answers he so dearly craved danced right in front of him, and the silent night seemed to be screaming in his ears as he pieced together what was going on. 

_A hero no more!  
_  
The officer sat there, no more calm than before, when the supposed hero strutted up close and personal, making him wish he had a breath mint.

Jumbled thoughts fell in and out of his head, and it didn't make any more sense when his fingers were hacked off between the man's perfectly-straight teeth, or even when a rusty knife made itself known in-between his bruised ribcage.

But finally, after what felt like hours of torture, his vision gave out, and all that was left to hear, in the silent night, was laughter.

-

The dusty old television set frizzled in and out of focus as the station was tuned to channel 7, the scene on screen was one depicting a dirty, old alley. Dozens of forensic scientists and detectives buzzing around searching for clues. A young, clearly unnerved, woman was about to begin talking; her hands shaking slightly as she grasped the microphone, and she finally started to repeat the script flashing behind the camera.

"You can see it here, folks. The _Blüdhaven_ _Beast_ has caught another victim…" The news reporter started to drone on, like every other news anchor in the country, as Commissioner Amy Rohrbach quickly shut off the television. Everyone shifted around, fury ran through each one deep, as they waited for their leader to guide them. To rally them forth and take down the _beast_.

"Listen up, men. We knew ahead of time what we were going up against, but now, that stone-cold sonuvabitch took one of our own. We take him down, and we do it right," She announced to the den of police officers. All of which were seething in anger, all with determination to take down a murderer.

Except for one, that is.

Dick Grayson quietly stood there, knowing full well what was going to happen. He already had Batman and his merry gang of misfits stalking him, ready to drag him feet first back into their little, happy 'family', and now he had his coworkers ready to find and prosecute him too.

It was time to find another city to crash [and burn] in, and he knew that he'd overstayed his time in Blüdhaven.

The police (his coworkers, keep in mind) were hot on his tail, as were the Bat fuckups. Amy continued talking, cheering and encouraging their fellow officers to search and find the killer as he finally decided on where to go.

It was just time to make like a bat and fly into the night.

-

Batman and Robin.

The Boy Wonder.

The World's Greatest Detective.

The Goddamn _Dynamic_ _Duo_ was out searching for their lost family member, and yet there were no sign of him.

Add in Red Robin and Red Hood, and one would think that they knew how to find their precious Nightwing.

Throw in nearly the entire Justice League, and surely he wouldn't still be missing.

But no one thought to look in plain sight, to check and see if he were living in his same apartment. Working the same job. Eating the same cereal.

But with the 'disappearance' of Nightwing; Dick's newest nighttime activities; they glanced over Blüdhaven and were all practically unaware of the sudden appearance of the _Blüdhaven_ _Beast_. And forgot to even look for the Golden Boy in the place most obvious.

Sadly, they came to their senses too late, and by the time they came to their wits, the apartment had been cleaned out.

-

His needed departure from his beloved city upset him, but Dick knew he had to make his mark elsewhere. Find new victims. Set new traps. _Cleanse the Earth of its dirty, uncivilized humans.  
_  
So he resigned from his once-beloved job that evening, and all that was left was to pick up and leave.

Except, he decided to give the BPD one last laugh.

One last search party.

And all it needed, was one little death. 

And who better to kill, than their very own mayor?


	3. Always Laughing

Fluorescent lights blinded Tim as he glared at the sluggish screen; he was waiting about as patiently as a child in a line at an amusement park, but to no avail, nothing popped up on the computer. His older brother was as missing as ever, and the longer he was gone, the emptier their disjointed family felt. In front of him sat a seemingly ancient, dinosaur computer, and it continued to beep on slowly as if it were loading something more than a few call records. His laptop had been broken fairly quickly after Dick ran away; the screen had cracked and the keys fell off after he threw it out the window in a fit of despair. Exhaustion and loneliness were making him act more like Jason rather than himself, because after all, losing Dick was like losing a limb.

Musky air engulfed Tim as he sat in silence. Jason was even partaking in the search for Dick, and he was currently skimming some old records– anything that could give them a lead on where their brother might have run off to. A few papers were scattered when Jason jumped up, wincing a little from a fresh paper cut. A pink cut lined his thumb as he smeared a strip of blood onto his ripped jeans. Frowning, Jason had been annoyed to discover that even he missed Goldie, and a pathetic cut wouldn't stop him from finding his asshole, older brother. At least, it would not stop him from trying.

"Yo bat bitch, any updates?" Jason bellowed from across the cave, his voice echoing from the empty ceiling and stooping walls. Slowly picking up the dropped articles, back hunched like an old man, Jason listened for an answer but received none when Tim meekly shook his head no.

Without moving his eyes from the primordial desktop, Tim continued his moody searching in death silent pique, ignoring when Jason patted his shoulder in an awkward attempt at comfort; however, while they had found nothing on Dick– or even his pseudo personality, Nightwing– it was discovered that there was a new villain in Blüdhaven, and it seemed that Nightwing disappeared just before that monster made it to the scene.

 _Surely that psychopath would no longer be free if Nightwing were still around._

This monster was killing people in dozens; at minimum, thirty Blüdhaven citizens had gone missing in the past month, all of them found bashed in the head and tortured mercilessly. Normally, Red Robin or someone else would make their way to the crime-ridden city of Blüdhaven and help Nightwing, but– as selfish as it was– finding Dick was higher on their priority list.

 _And there isn't any Nightwing to help anyway._

Shaking him from his thoughts, the youngest Wayne came racing down the cave's stone stairs, his shoes clicking as if he were wearing tap shoes. Edgy about something, Damian's dark hair was as wild as a lion trapped in a hurricane, and his face was taut in concentration, seriousness etched all over his features. Jason raised an eyebrow, and his nose crinkled as if he wanted to poke fun at the ever-so-frazzled Damian, but he stayed silent as if to honor Dick's vexation against their bickering. Gathering his courage, Damian stood in front of the two heroes and waited a few moments to gather his thoughts. As of late, the Demon Brat seemed calmer– most likely due to loneliness too.

 _Damn, who knew losing their annoying, older brother would be so difficult._

But when Damian actually spoke, Tim was even more shaken up:

"Dick only just left Blüdhaven," he growled out, "We missed him by merely a few hours."

And suddenly the search for Richard Grayson, everyone's favorite hero, seemed impossible. What kind of detectives fail to look in the obvious, anyway? Their fuck up may have just cost them their brother.

Selling that cheap-as-shit apartment was easy for Dick; it was as if he were only throwing away a means to an end rather than the little bit he had left of his previous life. But that had been days ago, and since then he'd done his homework. He found that stalking his prey was fun, but Dick also took note of a few important details in the mayor's life.

The mayor had a low-level security system and most of his servants left for bed early in the night, which made getting inside far easier than what he had thought possible. But it was an old house, which meant that the windows couldn't open as wide as Dick would prefer. Nevertheless, Dick had a plan set in motion for the mayor's execution.

Smiling sadisticly, Dick perched hidden away in a tree towering over the mayor's pathetic manor. Silently, Dick sat watching as the Blüdhavian continued bumbling about his estate like an idiot. He'd be lying if he claimed to know the mayor's actual name or even his political policies. At one point in time Dick would've known, but nonetheless, it didn't matter to him now. After all, this was all one huge joke– a farewell gift to his once-beloved city.

But in his heart Dick knew this wasn't the end, that it was actually only the beginning.

The beginning to his demise, sure, but it was not the end. At least, it was not the end for him y _et_.

Because tonight was the mayor's final, and that had been decided even before the Blüdhaven Beast crawled through the attic window, before he hijacked the manor's security and before he evaded the guards. Because tonight was the slaughter of one of Blüdhaven's finest.

Disgustingly egotistical portraits hung on rundown walls; stained, floral wall paper curled at the edges, and if he didn't know any better, Dick would've sworn he were in the attic of a homeless shelter rather than the home of a Blüdhaven elite. With the money the mayor had, Dick would have had at least made sure his house didn't smell like spoilt bananas and mildew. Pushing revulsion out of his mind, the Beast creeped down the lightly singed wood, making sure that not a single floorboard creaked. And as Dick strolled down the winding staircase, he beamed warmly when his blade met an unlucky servant-girl's neck. Wrong place, wrong time, he guessed. If the mayor hadn't been his prey, then maybe crimson wouldn't be leaking onto dusty stairs. But still, what's a little extra death when he was really just giving Blüdhaven a gift: extermination of its' filthy and poor.

In the master's room, an over bloated man sat on the sagging bed, his tapioca pajamas stained with tonight's spilt wine. Tobacco breath fogged the mirror that the man was gazing into; the mayor had been too caught up in counting his chins that he didn't notice his nighttime intruder. Rolling his eyes, Dick casually creeped into the room unnoticed— God bless narcissism.

A crinkled smile lit up his face as he strolled behind the half-asleep walrus and gagged him. Struggling a little, a meaty hand slapped the Beast but no damage was received. Instead, a throaty laugh escaped his chapped lips and a quick snap of his wrist knocked the man out. Collapsing, the man's receding, tomato-colored hairline glistened with sweat, and Dick could feel the quickening of his heart. Pleased with the outcome, Dick dragged the man to the floor and kicked him awake, his foot meeting nothing but cushioned silk. What kind of fun is exterminating a helpless heathen, though? They have to be awake to scream, and terrified shrilling was music to Dick's ears.

Muddy eyes snapped open and the quick pants turned into gasping and choking, fear paralyzing the obese atrocity. What sounded like a fish out of water resonated the near-empty house, which only caused Dick to laugh even harder.

"Shh, it's okay, sir," Dick whispered mockingly, "We're all alone, I made that possible just for you. So why don't we have some fun." Hand clasped over the man's quivering mouth, the Beast brought up his knife and slashed his stomach. Splitting open like a birthday pinata, the man's guts started littering the already-grimy rug. Scarlet mixing with slick intestines and ripped organs, Dick looked at it as if it were actually sugary-sweet candy from a pinata.

Not quite dead though, the Beast decided that cutting off a few limbs might be fun. And while Dick was chortling at the mayor's missing ear and sawed off joints, he knew deep down that what he was doing was wrong.

But damn, why did it feel so right?


	4. Always Running

Pouring rain chilled him to the bone, and snapping dogs put a pep in his step as he sprinted away from the police on the ever-so slippery mud.

The police… How quaint it seemed that only a few months ago he had been working alongside them, both in his day and night job, but now they were hounding him as if he were a suspect.

 _Although, they_ had _just caught him fleeing his most recent crime scene._

Really, the whole situation would seem absurd to anyone who knew him; at least, it'd seem crazy to his former friends and family, the people who knew him as Officer Grayson and as Nightwing. Despite the whole murder-psycho fiasco, he was nearly caught because of a noise complaint– a Goddamn _noise complaint._ What kind of crime is that even? Infuriated, Dick had taken off, tearing through muddied roads; soggy leaves were clinging to his carmine-stained khakis, and the day's most recent shit show would not stop clouding his mind, pissing him off even more.

Earlier that afternoon, Dick had went apartment to apartment posing as a street salesman. He was jumping through hoops just to find a worthwhile victim. But then, lo and behold, a carbon copy of Bruce Wayne opened the door.

Deep inside his heart, Dick knew that it wasn't this guy's fault that he had the same chiseled jawline as Bruce, or even that he bathed in the same, expensive cologne as him too. But seconds after coming face-to-face with this unknowingly-antagonizing stranger, Dick's teeth started to grind together like a pepper shaker, and his heart had quickened to an alarming rate.

Unable to control his deep seeded loathing, Dick couldn't stop his hands from bashing the man's head into the doorframe. Really, it wasn't his fault that the guy fell limply to the ground, his forehead split open like a coconut. Dick couldn't help his hands from not gouging into the stranger's eyes, mushing them to nothing but jelly. Something like guilt wound up in his heart, but Dick pushed the feeling away as yet another case of anger.

After the thump cracked against the cheaply painted wood, a lady had rushed into the room asking, "Honey, you good?" Upon seeing Dick, beige khakis and almond tie included, confusion seeped into the woman's face before she ended up screeching, "What the fuck just happened?" The situation couldn't be explained of nothing less than assault, a cracked head and mushed, blinded eyes are nothing less than a violent crime.

Blood was caked underneath his fingernails, but Dick couldn't tell whether or not it was from his most recent victim or from someone else. Maintained brows rose in mild annoyance, and with his fury slowly diminishing, Dick simply shrugged and said, "Who knows?" Casually, he examined the crusted scarlet under his cuticles and started picking at it, as if to act disinterested.

Heat rushed to the lady's face as she picked up a thick novel and threw it at his head. Thanks to years of bat training, Dick quickly ducked and rolled, finding himself inches away from her. She clenched her fist and swung but missed, her chipped nail polish flashing in the dim light, the tacky gold glitter a cruel contrast to his bloody ones. Instead of connecting her fist to the Beast, she ended up with her face smashing against a glass, coffee-stained table, his slender hands wrapped in her thickly coiled hair.

Now with two unconscious people and curious neighbors, Dick found himself lighting a match and running. There was no time to clean or even hide his DNA from the premises, so the only option was to destroy it all. Panicking, he sprinted away from the scene, down the crude steps and rushing through the seemingly deserted lobby. If the couple hadn't succumbed to the flames, then it was safe to say that the police now had a solid description of who they dubbed _The Blüdhaven Beast_.

And if they do, let's just hope they haven't realized that the Beast and former Officer Grayson left Blüdhaven around the same time as one another.

The confirmed kills tied to the Blüdhaven Beast was fifty-seven, and there were four undeterminable– but strongly believed– victims of his too. (There were also twelve yet-to-be discovered murders wrapped up somewhere, but Dick wasn't about to rat himself out to the police just because of a bit of hubris.) Honestly, it was relatively remarkable how much he had done in such a short period of time without being caught.

"– around 5'9 to 6' in height– trimmed dark hair– medium build and appears to be in healthy shape–"

But yet, this one fuck up could cost it all for him. His entire life and reputation– this one slip up could make him a wanted man.

Disgusting.

"– clean shaven – scar on his left temple – no visible tattoos"

The news all over America– and possibly even international– would not stop streaming his description. Despite having three eyewitnesses, none were exactly valid or even positive about what they'd seen.

The one witness hadn't retained much before being knocked out and blinded, the second was too panicky to really remember anything useful, but the third– and this one really killed him– had spotted him running out of the building after he lit the third-level apartment on fire. Now in the police's custody, the eyewitness was able to describe Dick far better than the previous two.

But to be quite frank, Dick laughed when he saw the sketch artist's depiction of him. It wasn't remotely close, but he supposed that that was in his favor.

Not even hours after the attempted homicide, the Bat family waited in edge. Distraught suspicions hung in the air, and worry clouted their hearts. Tim, possibly the most sensible of the brothers, was jumping off the walls; for the most part, inquietude and uneasiness wouldn't let him rest until his theories were shot down, but excitement for the [possible] sightings of his brother kept him bouncing too.

"Bruce, have you seen the news?" Tim asked as soon as the older man walked through the manor's door. Even after a relatively long day at Wayne Enterprises, Bruce could easily say that he'd seen at least a dozen different news reports on some up-and-coming murderer. Grunting, Bruce wasn't surprised that that was on his pseudo son's mind or even that it was the greeting he received. To be quite honest, when he heard the description of the attempted murderer, he had first thought of Richard, and he was sure that Tim thought so too. But Bruce knew that if his eldest were to ever go rogue, then these homicides would not have been _attempted_.

Sighing, Bruce ran his hand through his hair. A tired weight sagged on his eyebrows, and his lips were pulled into a tight frown as he continued to contemplate the possibilities. But all facts pointed in opposite directions, whether they proved Dick guilty or innocent, Bruce couldn't say anything with complete justification.

"It isn't Richard."

Because if the suspect were Dick, then surely this wouldn't be his first attempt. Richard was anything but lacking and unsuccessful, he would not have been this sloppy so early on. He could be on the run, from the police or merely from his family. Or maybe Richard knew someone was coming and had to leave the scene before he was caught red handed; thus resulting in him being careless and leaving witnesses. But maybe, say the attempted murder was because of him, it could have just be self defense that he had accidentally went full out on.

The thought of Dick trespassing the fine line between vigilantism and murder had crossed his mind before when Dick first ran away, but Bruce had dismissed it quickly; although, a nagging suspicion wouldn't leave him. Ever since Dick flipped out, Bruce couldn't shake his worries about him.

Because what if Dick had actually crossed that line? That the similarities between Dick and the Blüdhaven Beast weren't similarities but rather acts made in different states of mind?

Wherever Richard was, Bruce knew that he needed serious help, and all he and his family could do was race against time to save him before it was too late.

If Dick had thought it was wet and miserable earlier, then _boy_ was he mistaken. The sky had opened up and decided that pouring a shit ton more water would just brighten everyone's day.

Twitching fingers danced at Dick's side as he strolled along the busy sidewalk, acting as if he hadn't done anything wrong in the past few days– hours, really. But then again, his life had always been one long, exaggerated shit show– what's a few hours to a screwy decade or two?

An odd emotion filled his chest, and it'd been growing and growing since the em _incident_ /em with the couple earlier that day. Once upon a time, Dick would have immediately run to Bruce or his siblings, seeking comfort of some kind after an incident like that– one that left him feeling as lost as he does now. But he didn't. Because after all, times change, and people sure as Hell change too.

Perhaps what he felt was empathy, or maybe it was guilt for ruining so many lives; perchance Dick wasn't completely psychotic– an apathetic maniac on the run to cause devastation for more innocent people– and this was just him finally realizing how badly he screwed up.

As he did earlier, Dick just ignored the growing emptiness in his chest. He blamed the drumming, jittery heartbeat that buzzed among the chattering pedestrians and speeding cars as leftover adrenaline. But that same uneven thumping made a quick stop when a sickeningly pretty, clearly-fake-blonde news anchor announced that the Blüdhaven Beast had made his way to New York City. His chest felt empty and his fingers stopped seizing when everyone in the crowded streets stopped to listen to the overly bright billboard– the one depicting the Blüdhavan Beast as a nation-wide serial killer.

The police finally tied the attempted murders to him.

Except it wasn't him– not really, at least.


End file.
